


Poets, pianists, & melancholy nights

by Obsessionova



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: At least I actually finished?? Something, Flash Fiction, I wrote this in one sitting don’t come at me, It could be better but I’m too lazy to fix it, M/M, Not Beta Read, Prose kinda, That feeling you get when it’s 1am and you’re outside doing nothing in particular
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:27:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23775319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obsessionova/pseuds/Obsessionova
Summary: “Often, the only way to ease the pain of existing is to become both everything and nothing.”It’s 2am and Phil’s thinking everything, and nothing at all.(A.K.A. The one where they’re neighbors and Dan’s playing piano in the middle of the night)Inspired by “Nocturne op.9 by Chopin but your neighbor is depressed again” from the YouTube channel “l0user” because I couldn’t stop listening to it
Relationships: Dan Howell & Phil Lester, Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Poets, pianists, & melancholy nights

January. Tuesday.  
_The world is still._ The sky is dark. The moon is bright.  
Phil watches from his balcony, arms propped against the cool metal rail.  
The stars are dim. The air is chilly. The world is alone.  
He is alone.  
Existence sits heavy and meaningless in his chest, trapping him within life.  
“Life,” he thinks, “is inherently meaningless.  
But perhaps that is where it gains its beauty.”  
Then he thinks thoughts not in words at all.

Looking out at the world turned shadow, he lets himself simply become part of the passing melancholy wind that stings his eyes and burns his lungs.  
Often, the only way to ease the pain of existing is to become both everything and nothing.  
From the empty sky, flecks of white begin to fall. The flakes twirl and dance, languidly floating their way to the ground, where they melt on impact.  
An existence so simple, so futile.  
“That must be what true freedom is.”

Ever the poet, he would tell you he loves these cold and empty nights at ungodly hours because he simply needs to live in the shadow and become the metaphor, in the same way a child stargazing wishes to be a star in supernova and become empty space.  
Everyone looks at him like he’s insane.

The snow is bright. The sun is dead. The earth is empty.  
A single piano note rings out into the night, piercing the empty noise of the wind.  
Another follows.  
And another.  
Soon, a song takes shape, muffled by the walls between the apartments.  
The piece is slow, and nostalgic, and heavy, like every press of every key requires immeasurable effort.  
It fits, a missing piece of an empty puzzle that is the world surrounding.  
The music, the stars, and wind dance together - an invisible beauty.  
Phil listens, watches, becomes. Unthought words dance in his mind.  
All of it is meaningless.

For the first time, he feels as if he doesn’t have to have no meaning alone.

-

When the music has stopped and the night has grown too restless for the wind and the snow to dance, Phil turns to make his way inside.  
First, he draws out a small notebook and pen from his pocket, scribbling a poem made of all the unthought words bouncing around his head.  
The page is ripped from the notebook, and slipped into a pocket.  
Climbing over the railing separating one balcony from another, he approaches a doorwall cracked open.  
He carefully slips the paper through it and into the apartment, where it falls to the floor.  
He makes his way inside his own apartment.  
He crawls into bed.  
He awaits the next day to come.  
“Perhaps,” he thinks as he’s falling asleep, “one day I will meet the pianist so their music and my words can dance in the empty night, and neither of us will have to be alone.”  
The thought is fleeting, and is gone without a trace by morning.

-

On the other side of a wall, Dan crouches to retrieve a piece of paper lying on the floor by the balcony.  
He reads.

> _Surrounded by shadow  
>  The sky shines darkbright  
>  The stars have dimmed  
>  As has the night  
>  Wistful wind watches  
>  As weary wind blows  
>  I drink melancholy empty  
>  The never-world will never know_
> 
> _Thank you for sharing your music with the night  
>  -P _  
> 

  
For the first time in a while, he smiles softly.

That night, he dreams of an unknown poet who seems to understand the darkness as he does.  


_The world is still._


End file.
